


Knowing You

by tarie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 05:36:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1846279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarie/pseuds/tarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione arranges to meet with a very important Order informant. To her surprise, the informant is no stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knowing You

If Harry and Ron knew where she was going and what she would be doing, they would have insisted on coming along. Or, even worse, they would have demanded that she not go at all.

Yes, she supposed that it was dangerous. But, really, she could handle herself. And it wasn't as though the source had been in contact with anyone else in the Order. He'd only been in contact with her. She was, he said, the only person that he could trust. In one of their first exchanges, she had asked him why he would think such a thing. The return owl delivered a scrap of parchment bearing one sentence: You're the last person anyone would expect me to go to for assistance of any sort. The handwriting slanted to the left and was very ornate. For some reason, it fascinated her. Usually the owls she got these days brought her post that was scrawled in a hurry, the joined-up writing jumbled and messy, splotches of ink all over the parchment. But the post from the source was always neat, precise. Judging from the content in the letters from her source, he often found himself in haste when owling her as well. But perhaps he best worked under pressure, unlike the writers of the other owls she received.

Yes, she liked to imagine that this source, this person, was incredibly calm and collected, even under the most extreme of circumstances. She admired him for it.

For months now, the source gave her information on the remaining Death Eaters - their whereabouts, their plans, anything and everything. Sometimes his information was vague at best but it was a help to the Order all the same. Harry may have succeeded in killing Voldemort eleven months ago, but plenty of his followers survived and were undoubtedly planning something. The Order had word, thanks to both her source and an insider at the Ministry of Magic, that Lucius Malfoy was grooming himself to be Voldemort's replacement. They couldn't let that happen. They wouldn't let that happen.

When Hermione received post from the source for the very first time, she immediately went to Remus Lupin, who had assumed the role of leadership in the Order of the Phoenix after Dumbledore fell in battle. Remus told her to speak to no one about the post, that it would be best if the identity of the Order member in contact with a double agent (of which Remus believed her source to be) be kept secret. That way, he reasoned, she would remain safe, as would her source, in case there happened to be (although, of course, he sincerely doubted there was) a traitor in the ranks. Although she had been wanting to tell Harry and Ron about the letter, Hermione agreed with Remus and promised to never speak of it again.

Letter after letter arrived, always by way of a different owl, and she said not one word to anyone save Remus about it. She would give the owl a treat, scan the letter, and turn it over to Remus, who would then call a meeting and relay to the Order what new information the source had provided.

One week ago today she had received the latest owl from her source. He told her that he had something very important to tell her, something on a rather grand scale, and that he could not risk an intercepted owl. From the clues in his post (things they had established throughout the course of their owl-exchange), Hermione was able to discern that he wanted her to meet him this day at half-one on the top of Stoatshead Hill. She'd have to Apparate a few places and take a few Portkeys, as she didn't want to go directly there, of course, in case she was being followed.

After conferring with Remus, she went through several channels to arrange for various Portkeys to places far and wide in Britain. Between all of the Portkeying and Apparating she planned to do, Hermione was quite sure that no one would be able to trail her.

That morning, after Remus had finished giving out assignments (which he always did by giving everyone a small scrap of paper detailing their instructions, which they would incinerate after reading), Harry and Ron cornered her in the kitchen of the Headquarters. Usually the three of them were sent out on missions together. But not today. Ron asked her where she was going, to which she replied, "You know I can't tell you that, Ron. And don't ask me who else is going on the mission with me, either, as you know full well I can't divulge that either."

Ron frowned and Harry pushed his glasses back up his nose, giving her a long, hard look. "Whoever they are, they'd better keep on task. Because if--"

"Oh, honestly," she interrupted. "I can take care of myself, thank you very much. You need to worry about you, Harry, and you, Ron." She gave both of them the most stern glare she could muster. "Now, keep your wands at the ready, stay alert, and trust your instincts. I'll see you both when you get back, whenever that is. My mission's only a day; I should return this evening."

Ron looked as though he wanted to press her for more information but he didn't. Instead, he rubbed at the back of his neck absently before dropping the hand and brushing it against hers hesitantly. "Take care of yourself, Hermione. Because I-- because we, I mean, won't be there to make sure you do."

She opened her mouth to protest but Harry beat her to the punch. "You know it's true, Hermione. You're too busy worrying about everyone else to do--"

"Oh, stop!" she said, putting a hand on one shoulder each and spinning them round toward the door. "Now stop tarrying and get moving; you ought to be planning for your mission instead of wasting time in here prattling on at me."

With that, she Apparated to her flat in order to grab her rucksack and then Disapparated to the place where her first Portkey would be waiting.

**~**~**~**~**

They were to meet at half-one.  
She got there at half-noon, by no mistake.

Hermione liked to be early for meetings; she'd always been that way. That aside, it was important (as well as imperative) on Order missions to be early. Being early meant that one got to become familiar with one's surroundings and take note of things, things which one could file away for future use, if necessary.

Being early also meant that one could find a spot from which one could watch people unobtrusively. A spot from which she could reveal herself when she was good and ready.

The first thirty minutes or so that she'd been there, Hermione had skulked about the perimeter, memorising as much of her surrounds as possible. There was a small patch of trees halfway down the hill on the east side and that was where she settled in, choosing to watch the top of the hill for the arrival of her source.

Wand at the ready by her side, she kept her eyes peeled, waiting for him to show himself.

And while she waited, she wondered.

She wondered who this person was, exactly.

Throughout the course of their correspondence, she had grown to look forward to the source's post - and not just for his information.

Although they certainly didn't have time for long exchanges, they had begun, after about the fourth or fifth exchange of posts, to add small personal touches to their replies. A comment about the state of the Ministry here, revealing a favourite book or pastime there.

She didn't know who the owner of that neat, elaborate, and slanted handwriting was but she knew him. She knew him as a person, as a someone. A someone whom she would have loved getting to know once this war was over and done.

He had a terribly sarcastic sense of humour, something of which she had always been fond. He was a bit of a snob about some (all right, most) things, which she secretly appreciated, even if she'd railed against snobbery toward this and that to Harry and Ron over the years. Seeing through her defences was another aspect of his personality that she admired, as was the fact that he had no qualms in calling her out on it. Thinking on him had actually become one of Hermione's favourite things to do over the past few months. Never had she thought that she would learn his identity and even considering that she might someday do so had seemed rather foolish all those times. But now here she was, only moments away from meeting him face-to-face. Only moments away from learning an invaluable piece of information for the Order. Only moments away from--

Stop being so daft. This is serious.

I ought to be ashamed of myself. I should be--

A sharp noise to her left snapped her out of her thoughts. Starting from surprise, she clenched her fingers tightly around the hilt of her wand and crouched lower behind the tree she'd been hiding. The possibility that someone had followed her seemed preposterous, but not entirely implausible. She'd Apparated no less than seven times and taken six different Portkeys. Anyone trailing her would have had to have been awfully persistent to have kept up with her.

Using the utmost caution, she backed up carefully and took cover behind another tree, then checked to make sure she was clear before edging to the left, stopping and starting behind various trees and bushes for cover. A quarter-hour passed and the noise did not sound again. Breathing easier, she now felt more comfortable, figuring that perhaps a small animal had made the noise, stepping on a twig or something as it meandered about looking for food.

When the watch on her wrist quietly vibrated, signalling that it was now half-one, she caught movement out of the left corner of her eye. Swallowing hard, she pressed herself closer against the tree, watching as a figure cloaked in green crawled out from beneath a bush and cautiously made his way to the top of the hill.

So this was it, then.

Waiting until he had reached the top, every nerve standing on edge from anticipation, Hermione stepped out from behind the tree and silently crept up the hill. Standing behind the figure, she quickly and quietly uttered a Cloaking Charm, shielding them just in case. He turned around to face her just as her wand finished the downward flick.

Her eyes widened as they met those of her source. And, for once in her life, she was utterly speechless.

"You're late," he said. His lips went in a thin line and, after a beat, one corner quirked up in a half-smirk. It wasn't the first time she'd seen it. Far from it, in fact.

"I am not," she replied indignantly. "I've been here since half-twelve! You're the one who's late. But that's to be expected, isn't it?"

It was the shock of discovering that her source was him, she told herself, that reduced her to resorting to childish retorts and antics. It was easier to blame it on that than it was to admit to herself that she was flustered by his presence for entirely different reasons.

"Granger," he said, shaking his head. "You don't know me. Therefore, you can't know what to expect from me, now can you?"

But I do know you, she wanted to say.

She did. She knew that slanted, ornate handwriting so very well that it was burned into her brain. She knew the delicate curve of his l's, the austereness of his m's, the subtle way he would slip in a personal titbit or two amongst the information he was passing along.

She knew Draco Malfoy. She liked Draco Malfoy. And that knowledge was more than a little shocking.

"I've deciphered your little code, Malfoy," she sniffed, narrowing her eyes just a little, for old time's sake. "Not, of course, that it was hard to do. I'm here and you're here and there is business to conduct. So what are you waiting for? My Cloaking Charm is strong, naturally, but it won't hold up forever so it would be best if we just got on with this and went our separate ways."

"Yes, of course," he agreed, giving her a queer look she didn't quite like. Nor did she like the way he crossed his arms about his chest and took a step back, eyes moving deliberately up and down her form.

"Stop that," she snapped, feeling a heat rise in her cheeks.

He uncrossed his arms and held a hand out placatingly "I'm not doing anything, Granger."

She didn't quite agree with that assessment but didn't think that getting into a row with the Order's best informant would be wise. Besides, if she made him prickly, he might not give up the information.

"Why me?" she asked suddenly, the question bubbling up before she could stop it.

"Why you, what, Granger?" Malfoy said, lowering his hand to his side. He had very nice hands, she noticed. She wondered if they were calloused from years of Quidditch like Harry's had gotten.

Oh, thinking like that wouldn't do at all. This was business and this was Draco Malfoy. Enough of that.

"Why," she said slowly, willing any and all ridiculous thoughts to subside, "did you say that I was the only person you could trust? It doesn't make any sense. At least--" -she quirked a brow- "it doesn't make any sense when you remember who you are and who I am.

"On the contrary," he said smoothly. "It makes perfect sense."

Although she thought she was beginning to follow him, she wasn't exactly sure, so she said nothing, but simply nodded, encouraging him to continue to explain himself.

"You're one of Potter's closest friends. You helped bring down Voldemort. And--" -he quirked a brow, matching her- "you're a mud- Muggleborn, which means that a Pureblooded snob like myself oughtn't have anything to do with you." He grinned quickly, teeth flashing. She'd never seen him look like that before and she wasn't sure she liked it. He looked...put out. Tired. Conflicted. And, above all else, vengeful.

And he'd not called her a mudblood, like he had in the past. He'd started to do so but corrected himself.

How odd.

"Don't you mean mudblood?" she asked pointedly, before she could help herself.

"No," he said flatly, pinching the bridge of his nose tiredly. "I don't."

"I see," she returned slowly. But she didn't see. Not at all.

"Look," he said abruptly, taking a step toward her. "Do you want to hear what I've to say or not? I'm risking an awful lot being here today, Granger. If anyone knew where I was, I could be killed."

Her eyes dropped to his arms, which were covered up by the cloak, and then up to his eyes, her own questioning.

"What?" he said, a bitter edge to his voice. "Haven't you ever seen one up close before?"

Lifting her chin up, brown eyes met grey and she frowned. "I have," she said coolly. "Many times, in fact. Each one less impressive than the last."

"I assure you," he said just as coolly, "there is nothing unimpressive about me in the least."

For some reason, this quite annoyed her.

Enough with the pleasantries. It's time to get this finished so I can be on my way.

"Out with it, Malfoy," she spat, tightening the grip on her wand.

"As you wish, Granger," he said, waggling his eyebrows at her in an infuriating manner.

Resisting the now-overwhelming urge to hex the smirk right off of him, she rewarded his cheek with a glare. "You're wasting time," she hissed.

"As are you," he said pointedly.

"Yes," she conceded after a moment's pause. "But, really, let's put aside our differences now, Malfoy. You asked me to meet you here and I'm here. Give me the information so we can both be on our ways."

Malfoy gave her an appraising look and nodded. And for the next ten minutes, he proceeded to fill her in on his father's location and various plans the elder Malfoy and his supporters were putting in motion. The magnitude of Lucius Malfoy's greed and quest for absolute power rather frightened her; from the way that Malfoy spoke about his father, it was clear that he thought him more dangerous that Voldemort had been, for different reasons. It was also clear that the elder Malfoy was planning for something huge by the end of the month. As Malfoy continued to fill her in, her mind kept comparing Lucius Malfoy to not only Voldemort but the Muggle Adolph Hitler as well. The notion was terrifying. Mass genocide of Muggles and wizards of mixed blood alike.

When he'd finished filling her in and answering the questions he'd had, Malfoy shivered - despite the fact that there wasn't a hint of wind at all - and pulled his cloak tighter around his frame. Seeing him do that pulled at something deep inside of her.

And suddenly she realised what an absolute risk he was taking by being there, what a risk he had been taking over the past few months to contact her. She wondered if perhaps the Sorting Hat had tried to put him in Gryffindor, as it had tried to put her in Ravenclaw and Harry in Slytherin.

"Malfoy," she said quietly, tilting her head back to get a good look at his face.

"Don't," he said quickly, taking a step back from her.

"Don't what?" she asked, moving a step closer to him.

"Don't," he said harshly. His eyes narrowed dangerously into slits and she wondered what she'd said wrong. "Don't, Granger, all right? I've told you what you wanted to know and that's that. Don't ask me questions you really don't want answered. Don't ask me questions I don't want to answer."

Her blood boiled at this; how dare he presume to know what she was going to ask? "No," she said fiercely. "Don't you go telling me what to do, Malfoy. I've risked an awful lot coming this--"

His hands were warm. At least, she thought they were. Really, they'd barely settled palm flat on her shoulders before the contact was broken; he'd pushed her backwards. She stumbled, arms pinwheeling for balance as her foot dipped down into a divot, ankle twisting. With a strangled cry, she landed in a heap on the ground, her head bouncing off of the hard earth.

"Bugger."

She could hear Malfoy swear and then, the next thing she knew, he was crouched by her side; she could sense him hovering over her. Wincing, she felt the back of her head gingerly and lay her hand on her stomach, blearily opening up her eyes. The expression on his face wasn't anything she'd ever seen before on the likes of him and, had she been asked if she would have ever thought she would see Draco Malfoy looking at her in that manner, she would have accused her questioner of being a bit mad. His hair hung forward, off of his forehead, nearly brushing against her own. Grey eyes searched her face and she saw something in them - regret? confusion? -that made her stomach flip-flop.

"I didn't mean to do that," he said urgently, tipping his head in the other direction. "Are you all right, Granger?"

'Yes' was what she wanted to say but she couldn't quite form the word. Instead, she sort of grunted, pushing with her palms against the ground, trying to prop herself up. That was a rather bad idea, as she slumped onto her back automatically. Screwing her eyes shut again, she counted silently to ten before attempting to answer again. "Yes," she said slowly, willing herself to open her eyes and look up at him.

"If you wouldn't have pressed me like that, I wouldn't have tried to get you away," he complained.

Echoing his earlier words, she said, "Don't. Don't, Malfoy, all right? It's done. It's over, isn't it? I didn't ask you anything. You got scared like the coward you are and you lashed out, as should have been expected. You don't get it, do you? We're adults, Malfoy, you and I. This is war. It's serious."

"I get that just fine," he said coldly, pulling back from her a bit. "I know it's serious, Granger. That's why I chose you. Because I knew you'd realise it, too. I knew you wouldn't breach protocol and go broadcasting about to the entire wizarding world that someone from the 'bad' side was smuggling you information."

"You chose me?" she asked slowly. For some reason, it sounded so much more than business to her. Then again, she had just bumped her head.

"Is that so hard to understand?" he asked.

"No," she said after a long moment. "It's not." Shrewdly. "I know you."

"That's rich," Malfoy snorted. It had taken him an awfully long time to reply, she thought.

"It's true."

"You don't know me. You know post. You know words. Don't presume to know me, Granger. It's really quite laughable, to think that you--"

For the second time in her life, she slapped Draco Malfoy good and hard right across the cheek.

And then, without thinking about what came over her right then and there, she reached up and grabbed him by the cloak, yanking him down to her level, and kissed him.

He didn't react at first, which was surprising. She half-expected him to push her away. But he didn't. He just froze.

And then he kissed her back.

He kissed her back with a force that nearly took all of the breath right out of her, his lips moving demandingly against hers, his weight settling over her as he straddled her thighs. One of her hands reached up and snaked under his arm, wrapping around his torso as his tongue ran along her lower lip before delving into the warm crevice of her mouth. Hermione opened to him willingly, touching the tip of her tongue to his, fingers fisting in his rich cloak, back arching off of the ground to push herself closer against him.

It was all so very intense and stars bloomed white behind the blackness of her lidded eyes as she gasped for breath when he pulled back just so.

"I do know you," she whispered fiercely. "And you know me."

"Shut your gob," he growled, leaning in and nipping along her jawline. "Bloody know-it-all."

"I won't," she said, tilting her head back to give him better access. "I won't. I won't. I--"

Malfoy silenced her with a dizzying kiss, sucking her tongue into his mouth and running his teeth along it as he released her, then moved down the smooth column of her throat with teeth and lips and tongue.

They didn't have much time. Her next Portkey would be ready at quarter-two; surely the alarm on her watch would be going off again soon, indicating that she was to Apparate to the designated spot. Really, if she was being rational at all, she should Apparate now to get there with plenty of time to spare in case there was an unexpected change in plans.

But being rational was the furthest thing from Hermione Granger's mind right then and there.

Ten minutes. Surely I deserve just ten minutes to--

Ten minutes to do what, exactly, with Draco Malfoy?

One of his hands palmed her breast just then and she moaned.

Oh, that.

He palmed the other and she moaned again. Louder.

"Malfoy," she mewed, back arching and pushing her further into his hands.

"Draco," he corrected sharply, squeezing her. Leaning down close to her face, he murmured against her lips, "We've been corresponding for months, Hermione. I think we can cast aside the formalities." His brows lifted and she couldn't help but to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Here she was out in the middle of nowhere with a Death Eater - Draco Malfoy, no less - getting good and properly snogged and hadn't been able to bring herself to use his first name.

"Draco," she repeated, rolling her hips against his.

Obviously that had been the proper thing to do, for he rocked his hips back sharply against hers. She smiled, pleased, when she felt his hardness against her thigh. She knew him, all right.  
"Hermione," he said in a low voice, one hand leaving her breast to fiddle with the buttons on the fly of her trousers.

She wasn't the most patient sort as it was and they didn't really have a lot of time together. So she decided to take matters into her own hands. Literally.

Huffing at him, which earned her a questioning look accompanied by a modified sneer, she knocked his hands out of the way and yanked her trousers and knickers down, then attacked the closures on his own trousers, wiggling the fabric over his hips and sliding his shorts down as well.

"Well, well," he said as she grabbed his arse and yanked him close. "I always knew that you were--"

"Shut your gob, you know-it-all," she said, borrowing his words yet again. "I've a Portkey to catch and I'm not above leaving early. So if you'd like to get to it, then get on with it. Or leave me be and I'll rearrange my clothing and pop out of here before you know it."

He gave her a withering look in response, dug his fingers into her hips, and entered her in one low thrust. Wrapping her legs around him, she bucked up, taking the rest of him inside and clenching down on his length. His teeth sunk into the side of her neck and she stilled, the feeling of his tongue laving the spot on her that he'd just bit so incredibly intoxicating. She counted the rise and fall of their chests together once, twice, three times and then....

She moved.

He moved.

They moved. Together.

It took a moment for them to find a rhythm that worked but when it worked, it worked. Hips thrust against one another, backs arched, lips and teeth and tongue met and twined and gave and took and there were hands everywhere and anywhere. They were flying and they were falling and their voices rose up together as one to cry out, to moan, to express.

Just as she had said, she knew him. She knew where to touch him, how to angle her hips, how to tease him to get the response she wanted. And he knew the same of her.

Just as tension started to pool in her belly, her wrist began to vibrate.

The alarm.

"Draco," she gasped, stilling herself.

"What," he grunted, thrusting deeply and rubbing at her clit with his hand - which was calloused from Quidditch, she discovered.

"It's time."

It took him but a moment to understand. Withdrawing from her, he nodded, ignoring his own need for release to help her get put back together.

Clothes back in place again, she sat up, running her fingers along his cock as she brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. "I know. And you know."

He nodded, closing his eyes as he leaned back on his haunches. "I'll send you another owl soon."

"I know," she said. And then she was gone. She had a Portkey to catch.


End file.
